Paternal Instinct
by Ellislash
Summary: Unlike Ellis, zombies don't care about things like "family." Sequel to jessieheart's Noel. A little NxE, coarse language, violence. I don't own anything that's Valve's and I don't own Nellie either.


Paternal Instinct

Nellie was tired, but not so much as the others. In three days they'd not even made it through Montgomery. It seemed that behind every house and in every public building lurked something particularly nasty - the horribly mutated creatures they'd taken to calling "boomers." The hordes of infected summoned by their excretions never seemed to stop, and between the four adults only a rotten crawfish's-worth of sleep had been gotten in the past 32 hours. Even Nick was too exhausted to be sarcastic as he moved to keep Nellie's dirty feet off his suit.

"Coach, it's your turn. My neck is killing me."

Coach lifted the little girl from Nick's shoulders and replaced her on his own without a word. Ellis, ever protective, supervised the transfer from the corner of his eye. His attention divided, he caught his heavy black boot on a human leg lying alone on the road, looking for all the world like it was there for the sole purpose of tripping somebody. Knowing better than to yell, Ellis went down with only a surprised grunt and caught himself with the arm not holding a combat rifle. Instantly Rochelle moved to cover him while he picked himself up.

"You all right, sweetie?" She asked with her usual concern.

Ellis inspected the wide gash along his forearm. "Aw, I've had way worse'n this." Nobody was fooled by the halfhearted attempt at machismo, but he kept it up anyway. "Oh man, this one time, my buddy Keith was s'posed to meet me for pizza, but he was late, an' eventually he shows up with his skateboard like this an' his arm cut open so bad the waiter called 911!" Nobody looked at his comical impression of Keith. Nobody had even mustered the energy to stop the story mid-rendition. Only Nellie, perched on Coach's shoulders like the cherry-on-top, giggled. Or looked like she did. The child never made a sound.

"Overalls finished a story? What's the world coming to?" snarked Nick, with a flash of his usual attitude. He sobered quickly. "Seriously, though. We need to rest. This is ridiculous."

"Rest where? Ain't noplace 'round here that's still got four walls and a roof." Coach gestured at the surrounding ruined houses with his HK91.

The survivors looked around, bleak-eyed. It seemed that Coach was right. Hardly a building stood that wasn't badly scored by fire, or half blown up by the military, or so weak that a couple of common infected could break down the door. There weren't even any large vans or trucks to be seen.

Suddenly Coach flinched. "Ow! Hey, what'd you do that for?" he griped, lifting Nellie off his back. "I need my ears, you can't just pull 'em off like that!"

Nellie met his eyes firmly while suspended in his grip. She first signed "look," then "follow" and pointed roughly at ten o'clock from their current position. She then proceeded to squirm, and point from herself to the ground. Coach let her down gently and began to follow as she carefully walked along a withered bed of flowers.

"She's seen something, I think. Better go check it out," he told the others.

"What, are you nuts? Just going to walk in there, off the road, with those boomer things around? Because a little _girl_ saw something?" Nick had apparently passed through exhaustion and into the dangerous mood-swing stage that comes after. His eyes seemed a little wild above his gaunt face, but they still looked down to see what was tugging at his pant leg.

Nellie let go of the suit and signed both "food" and "safe." She paused and thought, then haltingly showed "high up, see far."

Coach translated, since not everyone had learned ASL as well as Nellie.

"Well, we can't stay here. May as well see what she's found. Thanks for telling us, sweetie," Rochelle broke the silence.

Nick sulked.

Coach replaced Nellie so she could guide them, and the group cautiously moved off the road. In short order, beyond a pile of rubble, they saw a small convenience store, and through the window, a saferoom door.

"I'll be damned," whispered Nick to himself.

"Well goddamn, girl! With eyes like that, you should have a gun too! Be a right ol' Annie Oakley!" Ellis cheered up immensely at the promise of rest, in spite of the gore clotting on his arm.

They slowly moved to the shop. By sheer luck, only a couple of infected were shambling around inside, and they were silently dispatched by well-swung axes. The shelves were still stocked with toiletries, and there were even a few cans of food to be found. Everyone grabbed an armful of supplies and the group retreated behind the barred door.

"No sweeter sound, my friends," sighed Nick as the door clanged shut. He dropped everything on the spot and started to lie down.

"Hang on now, just a minute," Coach admonished. He'd dropped his supplies, too, but was checking the walls and the exit for any weakness. He disappeared into a second room for a moment, and the others heard the swish-splat of decapitation. "All good now," he said as he returned, dragging a single corpse to the door and pitching it out. It left a wide trail of blood on the floor.

Ellis was leaning against a large safe, reading the messages other refugees had left on the wall.

_Bobby - Jen+__Carl__ ok __going__ to__ New__ Orleans_

_ CEDA sux!_

_ RIP Mike Russel Peters_

_ leev sum supplys 4 next grp!_

_ Army shoots to kill!_

Rochelle picked up all the cans they'd grabbed and started to sort them. "Beans, beans, corn, tomato sauce...? Beans..."

Nellie came over to her and signed "Nellie help." She took the can of tomato sauce, a can of plain baked beans, and a tin of some kind of meat. Putting these in a pile, she went to the heap of junk in the corner and dug around until she found a frying pan. Dragging this back, she then poked Ellis and asked for "fire box." Confused for a few seconds, he then brightened up and reached in his pocket, drawing out a small, yellow, rectangular device.

"Hey Coach, what's the sign for 'lighter?'"

"That one I dunno," Coach replied through a faceful of soap as he cleaned up.

"Uh, ok. Here, Nellie, I'll show you how to use it."

"Don't you dare burn this place down around our ears," warned Nick from his position on the floor.

"I ain't gonna! I think Nellie wants us to make food, is all," said Ellis, raising his eyebrow at the girl. She nodded.

An expedition for firewood and half of a Molotov cocktail later, the adults had the contents of Nellie's cans simmering in the frying pan while the child watched approvingly. Ellis wiped tomato off his utility knife and went to the back room in search of spoon-like things to eat with. The others heard several violent _WHAM_ sounds, and he came back with a handful of bent metal bits.

"I tried to shape 'em but they're still kinda sharp. Be careful," he warned, feeling the edge of one before handing it to Nellie. The group gathered around the frying pan and ate out of it all together. The hot food was like sweet ambrosia.

When the pan was empty and the fire put out, the four adults each thanked their young companion earnestly. Even Nick was in a good mood.

"Sorry for being a prick earlier. You did good. I owe you one."

Rochelle hugged Nellie. "That was an awesome idea. Know any other recipes?" Nellie replied with "yes, mother teach."

"Beats me why we never think of this," Nick wondered aloud.

"I don't know about you, but I sure don't have the energy to cook most nights," Rochelle replied, propping her fist on her hip. "And most places we stop, fire isn't safe."

Coach ruffled Nellie's hair. "Girl, if you keep seeing saferooms, you can pull my ears all you want."

Ellis got down on the floor and hugged the child without saying word. When he let her go, she took his hat off and gave him a big kiss on the forehead, leaving a smear of tomato sauce. The young man beamed. _I__ must __be __real __tired_, he thought. _I __feel __like __crying._

Hygiene was tended to and mess was scrubbed off the floor so the group could sleep. Exhausted as they were, Nick and Ellis found it difficult to drop off even after the others were totally unconscious. They sat propped against the wall, Ellis watching Nellie cuddle against Rochelle and Nick staring into space.

The northerner, at least, had reason to be awake. _Even__ if __it's__ the __only __thing __keeping __me__ alive,_ he mused, _Southern__ food __will _never _sit __well __with__ me._ In his mind's eye he pictured lobster, filet mignon, caviar, decadent desserts - all food he'd grown accustomed to in his high-rolling lifestyle. He longed for a simple tuna fish sandwich as the spam-and-beans, which had tasted so good when he was starving, waged war against his stomach.

Ellis was annoyed at himself. In spite of all that had happened since he'd rescued Nellie, he still had trouble letting others take care of her. He still, somewhere deep, did not trust the rest of the group to not kill "the dead weight." He fought with himself to relax and let it go.

Nick was distracted from his reverie by the sound of Ellis muttering, first angrily, then condescendingly, to himself. The conman listened with interest at first, only registering the emotions and not the words, but gradually realized that Ellis was still upset with _him_. He had been the one to suggest killing the child when they'd found her, and Ellis, on some level, had never forgiven him.

The discovery hit Nick in a way he did not expect. He felt... regret. Sadness. He wanted the younger man to be comfortable with and respect him. It was a strange and disquieting realization. He tried to reason it out, telling himself that if any of them were to survive this, they all had to trust each other implicitly. He tried to assert that the apocalypse had brought back some of his religion, or fundamental sense of right and wrong, and that he now wanted to earn forgiveness. _Maybe __the __first __reason__'__s __part__ of __it,_ he thought, grimacing, _but __that__ second__ one __is __bullshit __and__ you __know __it._ Still, neither idea provided sufficient explanation for his emotions. There was something more. _And __that __scares __me_, Nick admitted. As a man who'd once made a living off knowing exactly what people were thinking, this kind of uncertainty was more terrifying than any number of infected. He shook his head violently to empty his mind.

The movement startled Ellis, who grabbed his gun and looked around wildly.

"Shhh, shhh, you'll wake the others," Nick pushed the rifle's muzzle down.

"Oh. Nick. Sorry, I was... I was... Hell, I dunno what I was." He put the gun on the floor gently and winced at the small clatter it made. Nick was looking at him funny. "You look like you ate Aunt Bessie's radish pie. What's wrong?" he asked innocently.

Nick blinked at Ellis' open, concerned face, unsure of what to say.

"Uh... Look, you were... I heard..." He ran his hand through his hair in consternation. "For fuck's sake, you were talking to yourself. And..."

"Aw shit, I'm sorry. I'll shut up so you can sleep."

"No, that's not... I was awake anyhow. But... You still don't trust us. About Nellie. And that was my fault, I should never have-"

"Shit. Nick, listen, you said whatcha said an' that's past. I know that. It's over. You've been good to 'er since then. Just... bits of me care about 'er like..." His gaze rested on Nellie, making small movements in her sleep. "Like she's _my_ daughter, my own kin… S'not like I know what it is, actually, but I can guess, cuz my fam'ly was huge an' all, musta had a dozen-" he started to ramble.

"Ellis... Ellis!" Nick grabbed his face and looked him in the eye. "Shut up. I know. I know what it's like. But I realized, just now, that I never apologized. For what I said. So, I'm sorry, okay? Stop torturing yourself." He let go, uncomfortable with the honesty of the moment.

Ellis stayed where he was, gaping. Tears welled up, and he seemed not to notice. Nick wiped them away with rough fingers.

"Don't go there. That's enough emotional crap. And DON'T tell the others I said any of this, got it?"

Ellis nodded silently, swallowed hard, and slid down the wall til he lay on the ground. Nick did the same, wedging his arm behind his head to stare at the ceiling. _And__ that's __that_, he told himself firmly. But he didn't believe it.

The minutes passed in wakefulness as he mentally chased himself in circles. He lost track of time, finally losing consciousness the way a local radio station fades away on a long road trip: moments of static, moments of silence. In a moment of awareness Nick noticed a warm pressure on his chest. Through exhausted haze he saw that Ellis had curled up in a ball, head resting on Nick's ribcage.

_That's...__nice..._ he thought, and passed out.

They woke up cuddled close together, Coach and Rochelle smiling at them over tins of beans.

* * *

><p>"Aw <em>hell<em> yeah! Git some!" Ellis, after some food and rest, was clearly feeling more like his usual, exuberant self. He hooted, hollered, and reveled in the glory of mowing down rank upon rank of infected with a chainsaw. The four adults formed a ring around Nellie, shooting outwards at all the demons come to kill them. After a long, quiet night they felt refreshed and ready to fight their way to freedom.

When the last _krakk!_ of Coach's rifle faded, their little patch of ground was surrounded on all sides by heaps of corpses. Rochelle, Nick, and Coach immediately reloaded their weapons, while Ellis checked his gas tank. Annoyed, he cast the low-fuel weapon to the ground and picked up a discarded pistol instead. He fired at a piece of trash to see if it worked, and looked surprised. He inspected the gun closely, then became thoughtful.

"Hey Nellie, c'mere," he said.

The child walked over to him and gazed in delight as Ellis wiped the gore off of a Desert Eagle.

"Now this is real dangerous, okay? You gotta do it right or you'll only hurt yourself." He briefly showed her how to hold the pistol, how to fire, how to reload. The handgun looked big as a grenade launcher in her grasp.

"The only reason I'm givin' you this is because, see here? This bit attached to it? That's s'posed to get rid of 'recoil.' Any other gun would break your arms, okay? I'm serious." Ellis made sure Nellie understood before letting go.

The other three adults looked on in disbelief.

"Uh, Ellis. Are you _sure_ she can handle that? Even I still have to hold one of those with both hands," said Rochelle skeptically.

"Here, look, Ro'. You can try it first if you want," offered Ellis. "I seen this kinda thing before, an' not just in movies, 'cuz one time me and Kieth, we was-"

"That's nice, dear," interrupted Rochelle as she gently took the gun from Nellie. She inspected the add-on carefully, held the grip with both hands, aimed at a nearby tree, and fired. Splinters flew. Her arms barely jerked. Her eyes went wide.

"Well. That's, uh… That's impressive." She stared at the weapon with intense respect. "Where did this _come_ from?"

"This one. He musta been somebody or other, before the whole… Before." Ellis nudged a body with his toe. It was filthy and gory and mutated, like any other corpse, but under the scum it wore a rather nice suit. Nick rolled the dead man over with his gun and went through the pockets like a professional. The others heard him whistle, impressed.

"This guy was _loaded_," he said quietly, raising a thick wad of $100 bills before sticking it in his own jacket. "Suit from Italy, real leather holster for that gun, _very_ nice phone… pity it'll never work again… Now what have we here?" From a deep pocket in the corpse's jacket he drew what looked like a black leather wallet. He opened it to reveal a picture of a woman and some children, presumably the dead man's family. Nick examined it closely.

"Ellis, gimme your knife."

It was duly handed over.

"Don't ask me how I know about this, okay?" Nick said sharply as he sliced open the wallet. From inside the lining he drew what looked like a miniature credit card, dull silver in color. He smiled coldly at it.

"C.I.A. Undercover I guess. 'Ferret Six,' whatever that means." Nick tossed the ID tag to Ellis. "Catch."

Ellis stared wide-eyed before passing it to Coach, whose normally confident face was drawn with wonder. He handed it to Rochelle, who looked as though nothing would ever surprise her again. Nellie jumped up and down.

"Nellie look," she signed. Rochelle handed her the card without a word.

Nellie posed with the tag and the gun, pantomiming being a secret agent. The adults laughed, and a tension was broken, though the other three were burningly curious - and suspicious - of Nick's knowledge.

"C'mon, gang. We've been here long enough. Time to move on," Coach reminded them after a moment. He was old enough to understand that a man can experience a lot of things in his life, and tried to take this whole C.I.A. business in stride. There was a lot about Nick they didn't know, he mused as the group picked its way through the bodies. Maybe they never thought to ask because his story seemed so obvious. Conman. Gunman. Gambler and thief. _Ocean__'__s__ 11_ type shit. Maybe the guy deserved a new opinion.

Rochelle also thought while giving Nellie a hand climbing over Mount Zombie-Corpse. _This__ is __some __grim__ shit, __but __it__'__s __never __dull,_ she told herself. _And__ it__'__s__ almost __like __having __a __family __again_. The thought made her grimace. Why'd she have to remember that? Rochelle tried desperately not to think of her mother, her sisters, her brother, or any of her dozens of other relations. It was too painful. But maybe these men, and the girl, were becoming like family. They filled a void she did her best to ignore.

Over the course of the morning, Ellis made Nellie practice with her new pistol. She was a scary-fast learner, and soon could hit stop signs a block away without slowing her pace. Even Nick complimented her aim. Eventually, though, she got tired of walking, and tugged on Rochelle's hand.

"Coach up?" she signed.

"Coach, hold on for us? Nellie wants a ride," Rochelle called to the older man on point.

"I can take 'er," offered Ellis, who was closer. Nellie shook her head.

"Coach up up up," her hands said. Rochelle laughed.

"I think she means that Coach is taller, honey. No offense, right?" The girl nodded and hugged Ellis around the knees, then pantomimed looking keenly into the distance and shooting her gun. The young man smiled.

"Well all right, Annie Oakley. Use those eyes for us."

Coach accepted his burden more willingly than he had before. The group made good time and managed to avoid trouble for the most part. Eventually, Nellie and her steed worked out a system for her to communicate what she saw: firmly patting Coach's bald head meant "stop;" tapping with her fingers was "I want to get down;" and a tug of his ear (she was gentler now) meant "danger ahead." The rest of the time, she used his head as a kind of sniper's post, resting her arms there while pointing her pistol at the landscape.

A few hours after they scavenged lunch from an abandoned restaurant, Nellie signaled for a stop. From Coach's shoulders she signed to the others "big road, many cars."

"What's she sayin'? I can't see." Coach resisted the urge to look up, fearing to dislodge his passenger.

"Highway. She sees the highway!" Ellis got excited. "Maybe we can get another car an' drive from here!"

"Remember last time, knucklehead? Can't drive when the road is one big parking lot." Nick raised his eyebrow at him.

"Naw, we can get a big SUV an' take it cross-country! It'll be like the time we was buildin' a monster truck an'-"

"Sweetie? I don't disagree, but a car that big needs gas. I don't think we can find that much, even if there _is_ something worth driving," said Rochelle regretfully. Ellis looked put out.

Coach was thoughtful. "Maybe we should look anyway, when we get there. Bound to be _some_ fuel, or we could siphon off other cars." He smiled. "It'd be nice to travel in style for a bit."

Nick sighed. "Fine, but we can't do anything 'til we get there. It can't be that much farther if our little lookout can see-" He was interrupted by Nellie, waving her pistol and shushing them with a finger to her lips. She tugged Coach's left ear.

"_Tits_," muttered Nick angrily. "This had better not be more puking ones, or I swear…" He trailed off and brought his gun ready. The area was still.

"I don't see anything…" whispered Rochelle. Ellis backed up against Coach to protect his cargo and scanned their surroundings.

Nellie was wrestling with Coach to keep him from crouching into a battle position. He finally got the message that if he stood up straight, she'd stop pulling at his collar and ears. The girl assumed her sniper pose and stared very hard at the side of a house two streets over. Nick glanced at the comical pair and had to stifle laughter.

Several tense seconds passed, and suddenly Nellie fired. Coach cried out in pain as his scalp was singed and whacked by the butt of the pistol. Just a millisecond after these noises came a hollow, fleshy _boom_.

"Did she just…" Nick's eyes were wide.

"She just damaged my brain, that's f'damn sure!" Coach grumbled, rubbing his head.

Ellis turned to see Nellie shaking out her hands one by one. His eyes were full of pride. "That's my girl, Nellie! What'd I tell y'all, she's a regular Annie..."

"Oakley, yeah, we got it. Damn." Nick was genuinely impressed. "Some toy that dead guy was playing with. When this is all over, I've got dibs."

Ellis continued to beam at the little girl precariously balanced on Coach's broad shoulders. She had a satisfied little smile on her face, but her eyes were cold.

Rochelle noticed the expression and mourned inside. _This__ world __has __a __lot__ to __answer __for,_ she thought sadly. _Fate __leaves __one __little __child __alive __in __all __this... __this _hell_, __and__ turns __her __into __what? __She's __no __child __now._ She was startled to realize that through all their trials, they'd never actually asked how old Nellie was. Rochelle did so.

Nellie thought for a minute, tucked her pistol securely under her arm, and very seriously held up six fingers plus one bent in half.

"Six-an'-a-half, huh?" Ellis made a face halfway between concern and disgust. "You're the oldest six-an'-a-half I ever saw." He too was upset at the way the epidemic had forced the child to grow up quickly. _At__ least __she__'__s __a __part __of __the__ team__ now,_ he thought. _Nobody__ can __call__ '__er __useless __anymore._

"Hate to break up this party, but we've got company!" Nick aimed his gun toward the house where Nellie had shot the boomer. A group of zombies, attracted by the bile, had gathered around the corpse and started to run in their direction. The team of survivors assumed a defensive position.

A brief firefight ensued, in which Nellie did quite well for herself and also figured out how not to whack Coach on the head with every shot. In contrast, Ellis had obtained a crowbar from a fallen construction worker and was whacking heads with abandon. His grinning face was streaked with blood. It was soon over. Injuries were tallied (not many) and ammo was counted (lower than preferable), and the group moved on. Always moved on.

They reached the highway without further incident. Rochelle nimbly clambered over a few cars and found crates of ammo in a totaled pickup. They all reloaded and began going west, liquid-gold sun in their eyes and falling. A tractor-trailer half-full of Twinkies served for both dinner and shelter, and the snacks formed the first pillows they'd had in what felt like years.

No off-road vehicles were found the next day, nor the day after. Fortunately, because the road crossed fairly empty country, zombies were few and far between. The third day, in need of supplies, they took exit 37 and cleared out a truck stop. The convenience store was empty, but an hour down the road they found what used to be a soup kitchen in a small town by a wooded river. Enough canned goods remained to have three or four meals, so they ate ravenously and distributed the rest to carry on.

"You know something? Cans are heavy." Nick's sarcasm went without comment from the others as they toiled to climb a small hill back to the highway. At the top they rested briefly and surveyed their route: through a poor neighborhood, back to the main road, and from there return to the interstate. There was a slight incline the whole way, but the streets were fairly clear.

Nellie indicated that she wanted to walk. Coach gladly put her down and rubbed his neck, rolling his head around to stretch the muscles. Nellie, on the other hand, stretched her legs, which had gone to sleep. She still clutched her pistol tightly.

As the group made their way through the neighborhood, Nellie mimicked Ellis in the way he walked, the way he held his gun at rest, the way he brought it up at sudden sounds. She found a place in their formation that would allow her to shoot and remain protected without getting in the way. They were only slowed down a little.

Shortly after they'd returned to the vicinity of the exit, Coach held up his hand.

"Shhh! Quiet, I hear something."

Everyone fell silent, listening.

"Oh, no. I hear it," whispered Rochelle. Her face paled. "Think we can get around it?"

"We'll see," Coach replied, "but I think it's coming from that Chick-fil-A. Lord, I miss Chick-fil-A." His voice was wistful.

"Well damn, that's just the scarecrow's boxers," muttered Ellis. The strange turn of phrase startled Rochelle.

"Um, it's the what?" She asked, brow raised.

"Oh, I, uh, kinda made it up when I was a kid. Somethin' useless. Like underpants on a scarecrow. Not that the scarecrow ever did much good..." Ellis seemed embarrassed. "Anyway, that place is right next to the on-ramp. We gotta be real quiet, y'all."

Nick had not heard whatever it was the others were worried about, and so had crept cautiously ahead. About twenty feet from the group he felt the ground shaking. Not much, but it definitely was.

_"__Fucking_ mother of Mary and _Jesus_ shit..." Cursing like a sailor, he tiptoed back. "Tank. In the chicken place. It wasn't _fucking_ there when we came down this way! Hell and god_damn_it and _TITS_..."

"That's not helping anything right now, Nick," Rochelle placed a calming hand on his shoulder, though her face was anything but calm and the man could feel her trembling. "We need a plan."

"Go somewhere else. That's a plan," he snapped, trying to mask his fear.

Coach was rubbing his forehead. "Take a few minutes. Got to face it rested up."

Ellis rummaged through the voluminous pockets of his coveralls. "I got this," he said, displaying a brown glass bottle plugged tightly with rag. "Light it up good."

"That's if we _do_ fight it, and I say, let's not!" Nick was pissed. "If we're quiet and, I don't know, take the next exit, or get on the other side of the highway, we don't have to even _look_ at its goddamn ugly face!"

Coach sighed. "The last exit was miles back. The next one's just as far. To get to the other ramp here we'd have to go past that sonofabitch anyhow, and boy, there's a river running through those woods that goes under the road half a mile from here. Ain't nobody crossin' it without a boat."

Silence.

"Okay, so we rest. Let's look for something helpful, adrenaline maybe, and then we'll try to sneak back up to the highway. If we have to fight, we will. We've done it before, guys," Rochelle encouraged them.

The men grudgingly agreed. They had no choice. Nick knew it, and was supremely angry at the fact. The others were glad when they spread out to look for supplies, as it meant not having to hear his unceasing stream of curses anymore, but Nellie followed him. She tagged along just behind like a puppy as they scoured the area.

"Hey! Over here!" Coach waved and pointed towards a blessedly familiar-looking door. "Safe house!"

Smiles broke out and all five survivors gathered inside. Nick seemed to be in a better mood, and when Nellie nudged his leg, he ruffled her hair. She grinned at him.

"Explosive rounds! Here!" Rochelle dumped a large box on the floor. "They were behind the shelves. This is exactly what we need!" She was delighted.

"Nice goin', Rochelle!" Ellis beamed.

The men helped themselves to the powerful ammunition and tended to their firearms. Ellis began explaining to Nellie's dismay that her pistol couldn't use it, but Nick butted in to inform the girl that she was to stay away from this fight entirely. She pouted at him, but he was resolute.

"Maybe you've never seen a tank. They're huge. Really huge. They throw _cars_. Whole cars! And chunks of rock the_ size_ of cars! If it spots us, you run, got it? Pretend to be dead, I don't care, but _don't. __Fight. __The __tank_." Nick's voice was firm, but not angry. Ellis looked at him with interest, since the older man had never shown this kind of concern for the girl before.

Nellie still pouted, but she nodded agreement.

"Good." Nick walked away to clean his gun again.

The group ate a snack, and a few minutes later collected everything useful they could still run with. Nellie was back on Coach's shoulders. They looked at each other and carefully, quietly, lifted the bar from the door.

As soon as they'd cleared the safehouse yard they knew something was wrong. The street echoed with heavy, animalistic breathing and the ground began to shake violently. Nick redoubled his curses, Rochelle went nearly white, Ellis got a wild look on his face, and Coach practically ripped Nellie from his shoulders.

"Run! Back in the safehouse!"

She landed hard, stumbled, and turned, ready to demand that she be returned to her perch, but then she spotted movement beyond her adoptive family's frantic preparation. It was massive, pink… _horrendous_. Her eyes went wide and she bolted for the door, nearly falling backwards in her haste but never losing her grip on her pistol. She scrambled across the yard and into the saferoom, closing the door just as three infected ran to catch her. She glared furiously at them reaching through the iron bars, dragged a box in front of the door, and stood on it. Three shots later the way was clear.

Nellie grabbed a pipe bomb from the floor. Opening the rear door a few degrees, she pulled the pin and threw the grenade as hard as she could. It beeped loudly, drawing more zombies from the other side of the house. Nellie slammed the door shut and ran back to the yard. Her family seemed pleasantly surprised that the common infected were distracted, and used the time to reload. The explosion rocked the safehouse, and Nellie winced as she watched the adults run circles around the tank, shooting nonstop. Ellis threw his Molotov while the beast lifted a car to throw at Nick, who ducked behind a brick wall but staggered at the impact. The flaming mutant turned to attack Ellis while Rochelle, well-placed behind some Jersey barriers, robotically emptied clips into it. Coach had climbed a ladder and sank bullet after .50-caliber bullet into what passed for the thing's head. Nellie saw more common infected approaching, drawn by the fight, and threw the last pipe bomb out the back. This time, instead of watching from her box, she opened the door and slipped outside.

Ellis ran in wide circles, unable to get off any shots while fleeing his smoldering pursuer. Rochelle finally managed to get its attention as the flames died, allowing him to take cover near Nick. In the noise and the panic, the older man kicked Ellis and jerked his head in the direction of the house, yelling.

"Look! God_DAMN_it!"

Nellie was just visible behind a lawnmower, firing her pistol with rage in her eyes. Her incredible aim was evident when the tank abandoned chasing Rochelle and roared at her instead, beginning to tear a piece of asphalt from the road.

Ellis' heart stopped. He instantly knew what was going to happen. In slow motion he screamed her name. He ran through molasses, holding down the trigger of his gun until he ran out of bullets. He cast it aside and seized his machete off his back.

"ELLIS!" Nick screamed. "FUCK!" He too watched the chunk of road go flying, watched it hurtle towards the lawnmower, watched Nellie flee - too slowly! - back to the house. He watched Ellis use his machete like an icepick, climbing the tank's back and forcing the others to stop shooting.

Ellis was blind with rage. He brought down the blade again and again, stabbing through muscle, further mutilating the already grotesque face. He felt the creature go limp. He felt it fall, nearly lost his balance, and kept striking. Only when Nick physically dragged him off did he stop.

He dashed the tears from his eyes and saw the house. He ran, screaming, past the mangled remains of the lawnmower, past the bloody furrow carved in the grass, to the wall where the piece of road was propped, crumbling. With inhuman strength he tore it off-balance. It fell to the ground with a thud.

When the other three survivors were done dispatching the last straggling infected, they found Ellis sobbing, on his knees, clutching Nellie's tiny body to his chest. Her blood soaked his shirt.

* * *

><p>They didn't get back on the highway.<p>

Nick and Coach had to drag their mourning companion and his precious burden back into the safehouse. They and Rochelle sat in shock, staring into space, unable to do anything at all. Ellis wept for so long that his sobs reminded them of the woman they'd rescued Nellie from, seemingly a long time ago. Nick once attempted a joke, saying that Ellis would turn into a witch at this rate, but his voice was flat and nobody smiled.

Rochelle leaned against Coach. She couldn't think straight, not even about how they would get out of here or when. Her family, her nieces and nephews, had taken over, and she was drowning in the desperate wish to see them again.

Coach fought tears and squeezed her shoulder periodically, lost in a memory of his own. Five years ago, one of the kids on his team had been killed by a drunk driver. That was the closest he'd ever come to this kind of grief, and tragedy brought it back afresh. Mixing the two young deaths in his mind, Coach couldn't focus on reality either.

Nick thought he was beyond this. Better than, even. Grief was for people who didn't know how the world worked. Men like him took what they could get and moved on. Life's hard and you have to be harder to get by. This is what he told himself as his stare burned a hole in the wall. All attempts he made to harden his heart - he hadn't known he still had one - were laughably inadequate. The pitiful image of Ellis and Nellie (_his __daughter, __that's __what __she __was __to __him,_ he remembered with agony) was burned into his vision.

And guilt. He felt guilty. He knew she'd probably saved their lives with those grenades. A cold part of his brain identified resentment as one of the things he was feeling, too. He owed his life to a little kid he couldn't, or didn't, protect, and blamed himself even as he remembered his warning to her.

_Stay__ safe_.

He wanted to scream and cry like Ellis, to beat himself with chains in penance, to shoot himself and end it all.

He sat and stared at the concrete.

None of them knew where the night went. If they'd slept, they didn't remember it, and they were still propped up against the walls exactly as they'd sat down. Only the natural demands of the body could make them move, and so a grudging, unreal morning ritual began.

They took turns using a makeshift chamber-pot.

They opened tins of beans and ate them with their fingers.

They drank water and washed their faces.

Except for Ellis.

Ellis looked like a marionette with no strings. His head hung, staring in anguish at Nellie's body, which was still draped across his lap. No part of him was moving. The others recovered their senses enough to whisper amongst themselves.

"What do we do? What _can_ we do?"

"Boy's broken up real bad. I can't blame him for shuttin' down like this."

"Maybe I can talk to him. Poor baby usually listens to me."

Rochelle knelt by Ellis and whispered in his ear. She touched his back, his hand, rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. Nothing seemed to help. She came back to the other men with a worried expression.

"He didn't so much as look at me."

"Let me try something. It worked last time, kinda."

"Last time?" Coach and Rochelle looked at each other, wondering what _that_ was supposed to mean.

Nick walked over to where Ellis slumped. He slid himself down the wall next to the younger man, and slowly, cautiously, wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Ellis?"

No response.

Nick agonized for a second, then gestured that Coach and Rochelle should occupy themselves elsewhere for a bit. They complied.

"Ellis." He carefully removed the hat. Still nothing. With his free hand he gently touched the boy's chin and guided it up, until their eyes met. He was offered no resistance.

"We're still here. We need you." Nick began, fumbling for tender words, hating himself. "I... I can't say what you need to hear, I don't know what it is. If you were in my head you'd see I'm as lost as you are. Maybe. Maybe not exactly, but close. Maybe just because I'm older I'm better at dealing with... with godawful things like this. Or maybe not, I don't fucking know. None of us do." Nick realized his fingers still touched Ellis' chin, began to draw back, then cupped his whole hand around the boy's filthy, tear-stained cheek. The eyes above remained dead.

"_We__'__re_ still alive! But we can't stay that way without _all_ of us, damnit. We won't make it alone." In his desperation he gripped Ellis' face harder than he meant to, but didn't notice. His voice broke, rough and low. "Come back. Please. It's not gonna help any of us to give up." Still nothing. "Ellis, _please!_ We need you. …_I_ need you."

Nick's eyes were shining with the tears he had not let fall overnight. Through them he noticed that finally, Ellis seemed to have heard him. A brief flicker of expression crossed his face, as if he wasn't sure of who was speaking but definitely remembered the voice from somewhere. Then it was gone.

"God help me," Nick whispered, and rested his forehead against the younger man's. His thoughts were flying thick and fast and he couldn't make sense of them, couldn't keep track, even the cold calculating part of his mind was lost and he wanted to cry or scream or die or

Ellis came to with Nick's lips pressed tenderly but firmly against his own.

At first he didn't realize that they _were_ Nick's, specifically. Somewhere in his mindless coma he'd dreamed of actually _being_ Nellie's father, lived the whole history of meeting her mother, getting married, et cetera, and for a moment that dream was overlaid with reality. Then the stink of blood returned, and sweat and dirt and a thousand other unpleasant things. Ellis blinked, and registered that Nick - grouchy, sarcastic, complicated, prickly Nick - was kissing him. If his mind had been able to, it would have said something like "Oh. Well. That's all right, then."

When the warm, tingly feeling made it from his mouth to his brain, he passed out.

Ellis was only unconscious for a minute or two, and woke to his three companions kneeling around him, looking concerned. For some reason, Nick was blushing.

Ellis processed his surroundings and remembered why, actually, Nick might be blushing.

Ellis blushed.

In embarrassment he looked down, and saw the body. He then remembered why he was on the floor with a child's corpse in his lap.

He started to cry.

This was not the wild, primeval, desperate cry of the day before. These were human tears, releasing grief instead of making it worse. Ellis lifted Nellie and stood up, nearly sprawling across the room because his cramped legs didn't want to move. Nick and Rochelle caught him. He shrugged them off after getting his bearings and moved to the door.

It was a quick burial. No words were said. Her only tombstone was the one that had killed her.

Afterwards they quietly packed up their supplies, reloaded their guns, and left the safehouse. Before they had moved very far, Nick raised his hand to stop them.

"Hang on a sec," he said, and squinted at the ground a few meters away. He walked over to the spot and bent down.

"Here," he said, returning. He pressed a shiny Desert Eagle with anti-recoil mod into Ellis' hands. "You should have this. Might come in handy."

Ellis smiled sadly at him and tucked the pistol into his waistband.

The four survivors silently turned away, and slowly faded into the west.


End file.
